Sipping rum and cola, waiting for a Cuba libre

Sipping rum and cola, waiting for a Cuba libre

ALAN FREEMAN

From Monday's Globe and Mail

PLAYA DEL ESTE, CUBA — Luisa is conflicted. She despises Cuba's
Communist government, yet admits that she became anxious when she heard
that Fidel Castro temporarily ceded his presidential powers last week
after surgery for gastrointestinal bleeding.

"He's like a grandfather to me," the 23-year-old student says. "It's
very strange. I hate the government, but when this happened I was
scared. It's very complicated."

Luisa and a half dozen of her friends were starting a brief beach
vacation when news of Mr. Castro's illness hit. Dressed in T-shirts,
shorts and flip-flops, they spent much of last week taking in the sun,
playing music and drinking rum and cola, but their discussions were
dominated by talk of the future.

They agreed to be interviewed, but to protect their identities in a
country where dissent can have a high price, their names have been altered.

The Globe and Mail

For Luisa and her friends, all in their 20s and 30s, the President's
illness is an opportunity to hope for a new beginning.

They talk of a Cuba where they will be free to express their opinions,
determine their own lives and have a say in who governs them.

Yet they also fear what the future holds, concerned that the economic
and political situation can still get worse and worried that the United
States is anxious to return the island nation to the kind of virtual
colony it was before the 1959 revolution.

It's the lack of personal freedom that most vexes these young Cubans.
Most have never travelled outside Cuba. They feel cut off from the world
and from independent sources of information.

Private Internet connections are illegal and the only public Web access
is in hotels, where it can cost $12 (U.S.) an hour, the equivalent of a
monthly wage for many. "They don't want us to have access to
information," complains Maria, a 29-year-old actress.

"I was born in 1974 and I have never been anywhere but Cuba," says her
boyfriend Pedro, an actor and puppeteer. "Everything I know comes from
the Cuban national press. Occasionally, I'll get a foreign newspaper or
I'll catch a foreign station on TV when the weather conditions are unusual."

Asked what they most want to see changed, the friends quickly come up
with a list. "Democratic elections, so we can choose directly who
represents us," says one. "Freedom of speech," says another.

"We want to be able to choose the kinds of jobs we do," says Anna, a
27-year-old freelance interpreter, who says she will never be
constrained by a government job. "How can anyone agree to work for a
month and earn just 300 pesos (about $12)?"

Luisa is more down to earth. "I want the possibility of buying a bottle
of cooking oil when I want it," she says, reflecting widespread
frustration with Cuba's mind-numbing system of rationing and constant
shortages.

The beach house the friends have rented is part of Cuba's parallel
economy. The house was built before the revolution so its owner is
allowed to rent it out to other Cubans, though not to foreigners. For
the equivalent of $10 a day, the friends get a modest cement bungalow,
only 20 kilometres from Havana and a few blocks from the beach. It has
two bedrooms and four beds, a bathroom and a kitchen-common room.

A turquoise Batista-era General Electric refrigerator whirs in one
corner, its door kept shut by a makeshift latch. In another corner,
there's an upright piano. Virtually all of its ivories are stripped off
and half the keys don't work, but the Steinway & Sons label hasn't faded.

The power keeps failing, at one time causing an ancient fan to fall off
its perch with a loud thud. Yet the environment is remarkably relaxed. A
fence around the small yard is smothered with bright-red hibiscus
blossoms and the only traffic is provided by a herd of goats passing
along a nearby road.

Pedro is convinced that political change is inevitable. "I think Fidel
sustains the revolution in Cuba. It's a revolution he created. I think
there is no other leader that would be able to sustain what he has been
able to do for so many years."

Pedro resents the omnipresence of "Fidel" and his transformation into a
secular god. He thinks politicians should be fallible and replaceable.

"I don't want a saint in government. I think I was forced to believe in
a saint as a kid. The way his image was portrayed, it was like Christ
for Christians or Allah for Muslims."

His buddy Waldo, a musician and filmmaker, chimes in. "I think there has
already been a change. It began on July 31 [the day that Mr. Castro's
illness was made public]. The people have just not yet processed it so far."

Waldo is upset at the selection of Mr. Castro's 75-year-old brother Raul
as the "temporary" president, saying he'd prefer other younger and less
rigid members of the President's entourage, such as Foreign Minister
Felipe Perez Roque or Vice-President Carlos Lage.

Asked what they like about Cuba, the friends pause and quickly agree
that they appreciate the virtual absence of violent crime, the lack of a
drug problem, the emphasis on caring for children.

Waldo adds, with a touch of pride, "It's the only country in Latin
America where there is a teacher and a doctor in every corner of the
country."

Pedro remains unimpressed. "What I like about this country has nothing
to do with the system," he says.

Yet in their yearning for change, these young people do not look across
the Florida Straits for inspiration. "I don't want Raul Castro as
president, but I don't want the Americans, either," Pedro adds. "What
the Americans want is money. The Americans help themselves. They don't
help Cubans. They don't help people. They bomb people. They're like Romans."

Waldo also doesn't want U.S. help. "Cuba is an island surrounded by the
sea. We don't need to be a colony of anybody. We don't need a sponsor."

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